Hello All,

I figured that I oughta post some pictures from my last vacation before I go on my next one. These travelogues are always so daunting that I never get around to actually doing them. I still owe you pics from my Hong Kong adventure '06 if you want to know the truth.

Most of these were taken on or around Ko Chang, which is on the less visited Eastern coast of Thailand. There are also a few from Bangkok. Oh, and don't be impressed by the temples and artifact-looking pictures; Most of them were taken at this open-air museum outside of Bangkok. Its a big outdoor complex thats actually shaped like Thailand, and it has minature replicas of famous temples from all over the country. This is sort of a hodge- podge, but, enjoy.

You can just imagine Bush at home, thinking of kids with the sniffles... and laughing his ass off.

As  I expressed so semi-coherently in my last entry, I've been stuck for blog ideas/ time as of late. I think I've figured out the reason. Basically, I tend to write in order to figure things out, but miraculously, my life pretty much makes sense to me at the moment. But to all of you, out there in not-where-I-am land, things may need some explaining. So, why don't I tell you what's been keeping me occupied.

Tsuyu

After baseball, it seems sometimes that the Japanese national pastime is bragging about how Japan is a country (sometimes, the only country) with four distinct seasons. Japanese people love to wax sentimental about their winter snow, spring blossoms, hot summers, and vivid red autumns, and how wonderful and Japanese it all is. These people are not only obnoxious, they're dead wrong, since most people agree that Japan has a fifth season- the rainy season. "Tsuyu" lasts from the middle of June to the end of July, at which point "Summer" is officially declared. Rainy season in Japan is usually pretty miserable; the humidity spikes and it rains all day, everyday, spoiling food, moulding futons, and making any outdoors activity completely impossible.

Tsuyu this year was fairly gentle; the rainfall was minimal and the temperatures mild, prompting the usual widespread murmurings about global climate change that somehow never keep people from running the AC at subzero with the door open. It was pretty dreary, but altogether harmless.

Summer

Savvy travelers know better than to time their trips to Japan in summertime. Although it beats being trapped inside a museum for a week by the rainy skies of tsuyu, touring around in the heat and humidity of August is nothing to be trifled with. I myself attempted a temple tour of Kamakura on a particularly hot weekend in August, and I don't remember a damn thing about except the heat, the sun, the screaming cicada, and the sweat.

Now that I live here and I don't feel the urge to run around to landmarks in the dead heat, I've been able to adopt several lizard-like strategies for keeping cool: namely, moving very little and staying in the shade. I get up early (easy, since there's no daylight savings and the sun is up at 4:30) so that I don't have to run to the train. Once I get to the platform I take the car at the very end of the track because its the most empty, and once inside I strategize carefully to ensure that I'm away from the hot, sweaty bodies of other commuters, but still within reach of the AC vent. Heavily wooded areas like parks and cemeteries are significantly cooler, although rife with mosquitos, and in neighborhoods like Shinjuku you can take the air conditioned underground walkways at least halfway to your destination, at least. The best and my most recommended strategy, however, is to lay low until the sun goes down.

Nighttime activity is the reason that, despite the sweat and the humidity, summer is my favorite season in Japan. From beer gardens on department store rooftops to tiny yakitori shops under the train tracks in Ueno, everyone from the crotchety chain-smoking business man to the fresh-faced college co-ed is outside, drinking and chatting.  So much of Japanese life and interaction usually happens behind closed doors- in windowless restaurants, basement coffee shops or bars down dark alleys in unmarked buildings. But in Summer everyone goes out, often to the same places, and mingles. This is the perfect chance for foreigners too to go out and make friends, since drunk Japanese on a hot summer's eve are the most affable, the most brave, and the most likely to dredge up what's left of their English and have a frank conversation with you. And, if you're lucky enough to speak the language, drunk Japanese are also the most likely to speak to you like a normal person and not a child/ alien, and if you're real lucky, you may even be able to avoid the otherwise inevitable interrogation about how on earth you learned to hold your chopsticks.

The other awesome thing about summer is the endless string of Matsuri, which is Japanese for festival. Matsuri usually have their origin in some something religious or traditional, although generally most of the people who show up couldn't really tell you what it is. Most of the local ones take place at a shrine or temple, and happen on a date which is significant either for the shrine or its patron deity. In the latter case, the festival may take place at a few scattered locations; for example, all the shrines dedicated to the Inari fox god. The Matsuri may be seasonal as well; if a temple has planted several hundred plum blossom trees on its grounds, it's fairly likely that there will be a plum blossom matsuri there in mid-February.

I love Matsuri because its one of the few cultural activities you can do that normal people actually still take part in. The younger generation doesn't watch sumo and they couldn't give a crap about ikebana, but one thing they do love is to dress up in Summer Kimono and head out for a matsuri. I don't know who's genius idea it was to market traditional clothing to trendy teens but Yukata are as big department store presence as swim suits in summer. So on hot summer nights all the kids in their colorful Yukata come out with their bleached hair in their face and boyfriend on their arm to eat streetfood and maybe pray at a shrine. Their little siblings beg their parents for plastic pokemon toys and win doomed goldfish, and good times are had by all. In fact, there's only one thing that could make it any better...

Fireworks

I've actually only been to a fireworks festival once, twice if you count the day I landed in Japan and saw a rather spectacular show between buildings from the back of Hiro's car. The second happened an embarrassingly recent 2 weeks ago- all the way in Shizuoka prefecture. The show was the biggest in the area, drawing what I could easily see was tens of thousands of people to the riverbed in Shizuoka city. Luckily the group I was with had come early in the morning and staked out a good spot with their tent, so we could just sit back and relax with some Kirin and some snacks.

I don't know how it goes in other places, but the fireworks in my hometown used to take place at the local Jr high. While the assembled hoards chilled out on the basketball courts and parking lots, the fire department set up in an adjoining field. After waiting for what felt like approximately forever (which is how long most things take as a kid), they would do a short, simple introduction. Then they would launch one or two fireworks at a time every couple minutes, or longer depending on how competent they were, and it would all slowly build up into a spectacular finale.

I was expecting approximately the same thing in Japan, so I was pretty shocked when, after launching a few test shots into the fading sunset, the sky practically exploded in sparks. What followed was at least 3 solid minutes of fireworks rivaling and surpassing any finale I'd ever seen in the states. They then cooled off and began launching only a couple at a time- but with hardly any break in between them at all. They continued like that for about an hour, and then they had the real finale, which was about 5 minutes of solid fireworks- wave after wave of them.

My only complaint was being so far away from them. Even though I had a spectacular view, the whole affair seemed to take up about a third of the sky. I'm not sure where they were launching from, but it may have been a ways down or across the river. In my hometown we were so close to where they were launching that the explosions at times seemed to drip down all the way to the horizon. Lying on your back and staring upwards, they seemed to be blooming right above your head, and would eventually envelop you. Indeed; some looked so close that younger kids would squeal and shield their hair from falling sparks.

However, I've never watched fireworks while drinking before, and that was pretty awesome. So, score one for Japan on that one.
 
The fireworks festival I went to was on the larger side, but it was by no means the biggest in Japan or even anything especially remarkable. Nearly every area of Japan does several of these festivals every summer, and as far as I know, are all about the same length. Now, does this get obscenely expensive? Yes, yes it does. About halfway through the show I noticed a particularly genki voice shrieking genkily over the loudspeaker, but couldn't really catch what she was saying. My new Japanese friend (everyone is your friend after enough Kirin) explained to me that fireworks are so expensive that they need to be sponsored, so the voice was describing the types of fireworks being launched and also the business that had paid for them. I was glad then that I can still tune Japanese out, because if I had understood that it was commercials I would probably have been pissed and distracted. I have no idea what it is, but there is a total indifference to noise pollution here. I can't explain it.

So, that's my long update. I could probably write more but I guess I oughta pace myself.

Oh, I'm also going to the Solomon Islands on the 1st of next month.

Its impossible to describe all the things that have gone through my head this month. Too impossible to even attempt, which I suppose is my problem.

Because, that's what writing is, isn't it? The act of taking a million intangible things- the smell in the air, the elbows of tourists, the smokey summer haze- and roll it up into a neat ball of prose, such that the reader really has a sense of what it must have been like to be in that particular place and time. But maybe I haven't felt like packaging things up so neatly. Maybe I felt like my prose has been unequal to life, or vice- versa.

I will miss this place so much. I have become so comfortable. My train lines so familiar, the food, so delicious. The people, so approachable. I can't imagine a reality where I would leave them behind and yet...

The song made me long for places I have never been, and people I have never met. Feelings I have never felt, and conversations I have never had. It made me want to use a part of my brain that was dormant, or exercise a muscle that was weak. It was my heart's desperate plea for change, and my brain, for a second, let it cry, instead of responding in its usual manner. "Shh... Hush... later..."

Maybe all these dreams of the future are just the rosy apparitions of things which do not really exist in this world, just pearls of exotic times in exotic places strung together by thin strands of imagined happiness and not properly woven into the full tapestry of reality with all its details, dangers, and dragging suitcases up train station stairways.

I really shouldn't read books like this one...

The 4th of July is not my favorite holiday, but its my least favorite holiday to miss.

I think the 4th has just the right amount of "traditions" attached to it. Christmas has so many that you get stressed out trying to keep them all straight. And most other holidays set up some kind of expectation that you should be with certain people, either your family or your significant other, and if you don't have access to those people the holiday just makes you feel that more acutely. Whereas, the only real rule on the 4th is to chill out with your friends, eat something grilled and watch something explode. Sounds good to me.

Browsing on the internet, I saw that the air force and naval bases near Tokyo are having big parties today, and it made me wish I had access to the base. I've vaguely wanted to go for a while now, having heard tales of cheap goods purchased with American dollars, normal sized clothing and, unbelievably, Taco Bell.

Mostly what I miss about the states, besides my friends and family, is the general feeling of being there, of not being foreign and of not standing out. I miss meeting many different kinds of people and being able to interact with them in a smooth, effortless manner. In forums I saw people gushing about their trips the giant K-mart in Guam and the Costco in Chiba, and how that alleviated their homesickness. I'd hate to think that vapid consumerism is a fulfilling substitute for the American experience, but I can't deny that I'd love to get into that Costco myself.

I first left my country for any significant length of time in 2003, and at that time I probably would have described myself as decidedly un-patriotic. Now it is 2007 and although my level of disgust and horror at the things my country has perpetrated has certainly increased, if someone were to ask me if I were patriotic I would probably say yes.

America was built with a mission, and on a mission statement. That statement declared that all men were created equal, and that all were free, had the right to free speech and assembly, etc. Despite the hypocrisies evident in that statement uttered by those people at that time, the fact that that statement exist means that we can fight for it. When something unjust happens and we clamor for it to cease and the perpetrating group says "Why should we?", we can answer readily- "Because what you're doing is unconstitutional". Even in a place like Japan, which is by no means an oppressive state, if I were to say "The government shouldn't be able to edit televised documentaries", or "A person shouldn't be denied the right to buy land or rent an apartment because of their race", I have no golden document to fall back on, no statement of "rights" to explain my reasoning. Its surprisingly difficult to convince somebody of the "rightness" of an idea without a mutually agreed-upon moral code.

Now, whether or not  those rights are always defended, upheld, or applied to truly everyone is of course where the problem lies. But having something in writing that says they should be is so, so powerful. And in the name of those words, and for that vision, I say, Happy Independence Day.

An interesting post script:: to celebrate the holiday, the radio played the Jimmy Hendrix version of the national anthem, as performed at woodstock. Its a very powerful rendition, and I'd never heard the whole thing before. My co-worker was listening as well and asked me,
"Are they playing this to celebrate independence day?"
"Yes. Jimmy's great, isn't he?"
"But he's changed the song. Isn't that disrespectful?"
I thought about that for a minute.  "Maybe at the time people thought so, but now its become a classic, so people probably wouldn't think that anymore."
He laughed "Oh, well in Japan it would be forbidden to sell something like that."

I'd also like to make mention of the passing of Sabina Paradi, who was my next-door neighbor at Westminster house for 2 years. I hung out with her occasionally and of course saw her in the hallways and around campus, but I can't say I knew her all that well, in fact, she moved to New York and I probably never would have seen her again. But she was hit by a truck a few months ago while on a date and was hospitalized until her passing. She suffered severe head trauma and the return of full neurological functions seemed very unlikely. In a blog, hopeforsabina.blogspot.com, her father detailed her daily progress and struggles. Reading it, I felt guilty at how removed I was from the tragedy. I guess I'm still waiting for it to "hit" me, or for someone to tell me it was all a practical joke.

In any case, Sabina was a sweet girl who was studying to be a nurse practitioner. She was fastidiously healthy, friendly, and her love for kim-chee earned her tons of spicy-food street cred in the name of white girls everywhere. I will never forget her, not because I knew her well but because the immortality of her memory will take the edge of how frightened I am by the idea of my own death, and moreover, the niggling suspicion that I myself am not owed a long, full life.

Sabina, the world would have been better had you stayed with us a little longer; I'm sure of that. I hope you have found peace.

I realize how futile it would be, how hopeless my dreams were, dreams of living a normal life and then also writing- writing on the side if anything came to me worth writing. But the life I find myself living, a life that affords its fair share of free time- regulated and limited though it is, does not seem to be conducive to producing any sort of creative thought, besides the short bursts of creativity required to get through each individual day. Routine sucks the thoughts out of my head.

Every day, several times a day, I escape from my office- because it is damn cold- and sneak up to the roof of the building. I have done this nearly every day since the weather became warm enough for the outside to be inviting. Unfortunately, with the advent of spring came the advent of air conditioners- my boss will not open the windows as if he was afraid that any natural thing might distract us from the business at hand. Even as the air grows hotter and wetter my office is bone dry and freezing, to the point where I need the jackets I haven't worn since march.

I get the feeling Man wasn't meant to live this way, in the sense of early rural man. But by those standards, man wasn't meant to think either; those preoccupied with taming or staving off nature long enough to survive do not have the time to create art. They do not meditate on the beauty of the snowdrifts that threaten to kill them, or the land from which they wish to coax food from. They have no interest in the more luxurious pursuits of writing about life as though it would ward off death.

When I am not on the roof I am in the bathroom sitting on the toilet lid with my head on my knees, breathing in the summer scent of myself; shampoo and fabric softener, and the sheen of humidity that lingers in the air. I give myself away to my fatigue, the fatigue caused by sleeplessness caused by inactivity. Every night I stay awake too late for no reason, and every morning I wake too early for the same one. I live in a world of individually wrapped bananas.

On the days when it doesn't rain the air grows so thick with dew that it muffles sound; the metal banging of the construction crew one building over softens and is more tolerable. Mold grows in clothes not instantly dried and any futon deprived of the sun begins to get that smell that everybody recognizes. I find that if I stray too far out from air conditioned regions that sheen in the air begins to cling to my skin and I begin to sweat- that feeling
of hot discomfort I had forgotten in the long winter returns to me. It
feels good.

Some of you may have been wondering what happened to my plant. I never bought a bigger pot for it, and it died.

What the Earth would be like if Humans suddenly disapeared

 I just saw that Stephen Colbert had the author of Full Frontal Feminism on his show, and I realized something.

After the word "feminism" got such a bad rap, after it became associated with angry, bitter, ugly, man-hating lesbians, feminists have been working hard to show people that feminists are actually just normal women (or men!) who think women should have equal rights as men and shouldn't be judged by their looks or debased as sex objects.

The funny thing (and by funny I mean not funny), is that the way they're doing this (consciously or unconsciously) is by parading around feminists who are deliberately feminine and non-threatening. Books about body image tend to be written by women who are quite attractive, and books about our obsession with weight loss tend to be rail thin. I suppose this is meant to legitimize their points- to prove that these social problems are serious, the books about them are written by people who don't appear to be affected. Picture Joe Shmo in his living room, when he hears that some lady wrote a book on how unattractive women tend to be on the low end of the pay scale. "She must be a bitter hag", says he, sweeping pringles crumbs off from his gut. But lo! A slender, fresh-looking young lady is in the interview chair. Well, then. Maybe this is a real issue.

If any unattractive woman speak out for feminism, it only "feeds into the stereotype", but if an attractive woman does it, she's fighting the good fight.

So, this is the state we're in as a gender- the worth of our opinions is tempered by society's assessment of our looks- even when we're writing books about how the worth of our opinions is tempered by society's assessment of our looks.

Just something for you to mull over.